


as fair are thou, my bonie lass, so deep in luve am I

by squilf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Actual Jane Austen Hero Sir Jorah Mormont, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26493802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squilf/pseuds/squilf
Summary: Sir Jorah Mormont is a Scottish peer of little consequence, save for the scandal of his divorce. Miss Targaryen is without connexion or fortune, but she is too much of a beauty for her brother to let her go easy.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39
Collections: Jorleesi Equinox Exchange -Fall 2020





	as fair are thou, my bonie lass, so deep in luve am I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rileypotter17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileypotter17/gifts).



> So when I saw the prompt for a historical AU, I immediately knew it had to be regency era. I am a huge fan of Austen’s work and I really feel like the Jorah/Dany dynamic works well in it. The manners, the fleeting touches, the smouldering looks from across the room… (That said, I couldn’t find any existing fics with this pairing and AU.)
> 
> There are a lot of ways I could have gone with how the characters fit into the regency era. I went with a dynamic I liked and worked with a shorter fic length, but I could easily write dozens of fics in this AU with Jorah and Dany occupying differing social status and positions.
> 
> This fic is pretty different from my other work as I’ve tried to capture something of Austen’s writing style, so I’m curious to know if it’s worked. Prompter, I hope you like this!

_O my Luve is like a red, red rose_

_That’s newly sprung in June;_

_O my Luve is like the melody_

_That’s sweetly played in tune._

_So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,_

_So deep in luve am I;_

_And I will luve thee still, my dear,_

_Till a’ the seas gang dry._

_Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,_

_And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;_

_I will love thee still, my dear,_

_While the sands o’ life shall run._

_And fare thee weel, my only luve!_

_And fare thee weel awhile!_

_And I will come again, my luve,_

_Though it were ten thousand mile._

– Robert Burns

* * *

Sir Jorah Mormont of Mormont Castle is once widowed and once divorced.

In the eyes of society, to be widowed is a misfortune; to be divorced is a mistake. The divorce, some eight years hence, damaged the reputation of the lady concerned much more than his. Lynesse is no longer a wife, no longer a Lady, and no longer welcome in polite society. But as mistress to Mr Ormollen, she is kept in the manner to which she is accustomed – a manner her husband could never provide – and if she is tarnished by the shame, it does not appear she feels it.

Jorah, on the other hand, does. Lynesse had never hidden her contempt for his lack of fortune or restraint with its management, and his attempts to appease her had only made her grow colder and him grow poorer. Jorah was penniless by the time he was cuckolded. It was a dual humiliation, only worsened when he was saved from insolvency by the damages he collected from the criminal conversation trial. Mr Ormollen was a wealthy if not a respectable man, and treated the sum of £10,000 as fair payment for the continued use of another man’s wife.

And yet, Jorah knows the fault lies chiefly with himself. Lynesse’s actions, though he could not have predicted them, were in her nature. His match with her was not a sensible one. But she was a beauty, and a chance at a happiness that had been denied to him. All he had desired – all he has ever desired – was a wife and children. He has had ample opportunity to remedy its absence since his divorce. But he has not met a woman who has excited such hopes.

Not until Daenerys Targaryen.

As a Scottish peer of no great import, Jorah rarely has business in London. But on one such occasion that it does, he is enticed – or compelled – to the ball of an old acquaintance, and introduced to her.

Miss Targaryen’s position is lowly, without fortune or family connexion, but she is too much of a beauty for her brother to let her go easy. By the time Jorah meets her she is no longer a debutante – indeed, she has been Out for more than enough seasons to secure an offer of marriage – but if Viserys, a man given to drink and gambling and wantonness, cannot afford to wait for the right offer, he is at least willing to.

“I am honoured to make your acquaintances, Mr Targaryen, Miss Targaryen,” Jorah says, but his eyes are all for her.

She curtseys, and her eyes raise to his, and they are pale and fine.

“May I have this dance?” Jorah asks.

It is a moment of folly, for surely so pretty a girl will have a full dance card.

“Aye, sir, that you may,” Daenerys says.

She smiles warmly as he leads her onto the dance floor.

“I expect you have heard from the gossips that my brother is hoping to secure me an advantageous marriage,” she says, her hand in his as they dance, “Do you know any eligible candidates?”

Jorah chuckles, a little surprised at her forthrightness.

“That depends on what you consider to be an advantage.”

“Viserys cares nothing for breeding or character, only fortune. He wants nothing less than ten thousand a year.”

“And what do you want?” Jorah asks.

“I want only security and dignity. I have had little enough of either. A very wealthy husband would supply me with an excess of the former and a deficit of the latter.”

“You mean you are too proud to marry for money, Miss Targaryen?” Jorah asks, lightly enough for her to know he is in jest.

“I mean I cannot be bought,” Daenerys says archly.

They clap when the dance draws to a close, and Jorah feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I wish mercy on any man who tries.”

* * *

When his business is concluded, he decides to stay in town a while longer.

Daenerys surprises and delights him on every occasion they meet. She is easy to like, of course; no woman who is a beauty and possessed of a sweet, even temper and a quick wit is not. But Jorah soon realises that there is much of her character to admire. She is intelligent, if lacking the benefit of a good education, and knows her own mind – qualities that not every man would seek in a companion, but only deepen Jorah’s regard. Her manners may not be the most genteel or discreet, but he likes that she does not make herself small and meek. She carries herself with the quiet assuredness of one born to more than she has. Of one who knows her worth.

Despite having the opportunity to meet her in company, it is only by happy coincidence that he speaks with her without her brother present. It is a sunny Sunday afternoon in Hyde Park and the path is crowded, as people of every rank promenade towards Kensington Gardens. Daenerys, attended solely by a chaperone, spots him straight away.

“Sir Jorah,” she says, “It is a fine day to take a walk, is it not?”

“Aye,” he says, as she takes his arm, “Although I am not used to this kind of commotion with it. It makes me feel very far from home.”

“What is it like there?”

“Oh, the Highlands are the only place in the world, Miss Targaryen. The mountains are white and the lochs are blue and the glens are green. And I miss it like I would miss my heart whenever I am gone.”

Daenerys smiles.

“I should like to visit your country. The town does not suit me. I should like to be somewhere wild.”

“There is always a fire burning in the hearth at Mormont Keep. But I think the wild should like to keep you.”

* * *

He next sees her when they dine at the house of a mutual acquaintance, and he feels an intimacy between them that did not exist before. Daenerys insists Jorah read some poetry from his country in contribution to the evening’s entertainment. He says he hopes she will sing, then, and he reads _My Heart’s in the Highlands_. When he reads _A Red, Red Rose_ , he steals a glance at Daenerys. Her eyes are bright and looking into his, and she might be the loveliest thing he ever beheld.

Later, she sings _O Waly Waly_ , and he thinks his heart might break.

* * *

Viserys calls upon Jorah not long after.

“Mr Targaryen,” Jorah says, and bows, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I will put this to you in a manner you will understand,” Viserys says, “You are a Scottish peer of little fortune or consequence. My sister’s prospects are far greater. Release her and spare yourself any further embarrassment.”

“Release her?” Jorah says, “Do you believe an attachment exists between us?”

Viserys rolls his eyes.

“You are not the first unsuitable man my sister has fallen in love with, Sir Jorah. Although you are the first with any real intention to marry her. The poor girl looks at you like Thisbe through that forsaken wall to Pyramus. And you are far too _honourable_ to allow that without a serious promise.”

Jorah stares at him, hardly able to believe what he is saying.

“You may keep your reputation intact,” Viserys says, “Tell her she deserves far better and your morals prevent you from continuing the engagement.”

“Without mentioning this is all your doing?” Jorah says.

Viserys laughs.

“See, you _do_ understand.”

He turns to leave, just as swiftly and as silently as he arrived.

“I will be out this evening,” he says, over his shoulder, “She will be quite unoccupied.”

His meaning is clear. If Jorah does not see her tonight, he may never see her again.

* * *

Daenerys is surprised to see him.

“Miss Targaryen,” Jorah begins, and he does not know how to continue.

“Sir Jorah?” she says, setting down her embroidery in haste and standing.

“Please forgive my intrusion, but there is something I have to say to you.”

“Oh,” she says.

He steps a little closer, willing himself to be brave.

“I do not have long,” he says, “I must… I must first give you a full account of my status. My family name is a good one, but I damaged it with scandal. I married a woman without first judging her character. It was an unhappy union that caused me to live beyond my means, and it ended when she was seduced and led from her home by another man. I am divorced, and any debts I had are paid, but my estate is of no great worth.”

“All this I know, although from other lips,” Daenerys says, “Why do you tell me?”

“Your brother believes that an attachment exists between us. You know as well as I it is a falsehood. But I wish more than anything it were true.”

Daenerys’ lips part. Jorah takes a breath.

“Miss Targaryen, I love you. I would ask you to be my wife. But I would not have you at the price of your happiness. Do not be deceived, I have little to offer you. I do not doubt that you have rejected more favourable and fortunate suits than mine. If I dishonour you with my proposal, I can only apologise. I know I should not expect – should not even _hope_ – for your consideration. I would not have, were it not for your brother’s words. They gave me cause to think there may be a chance, no matter how small, that my feelings may be returned.”

“My lord…” she says, her voice small, “You must know that they are.”

“What?” Jorah breathes.

“Your proposal brings me great joy. I accept it.”

Jorah strides towards her, no longer able to endure the distance between them.

“Daenerys,” he says, and then he takes her in his arms and kisses her.

It is less gentle than he may have intended, but Daenerys puts her hands on the back of his neck and when he pulls away she is beaming.

“Oh, my dear, sweet lass,” he says, “Can you really want me? A life together as man and wife?”

“I want nothing else in the world,” Daenerys says, and pulls him closer to kiss him with a passion that stops his breath.

“You may have convinced me,” Jorah says, pressing his forehead to hers.

Daenerys laughs. Jorah clears his throat.

“There is one small matter. I do not believe, given the circumstances, we will receive your brother’s permission to wed.”

Daenerys raises an eyebrow.

“I do not believe we will require it, in Scotland.”

* * *

The elopement is perhaps the third scandal of Jorah’s life, but it is the only one he is happy to own. Before long and without as much inconvenience as might have been expected, Daenerys is installed as lady of Mormont Keep. Her brother, who had poorly assessed both Sir Jorah’s sense of propriety and the depth of his affection for Daenerys, is incensed but ultimately powerless. Scottish society is more forgiving of the transgression than English, looking upon the newlyweds as lovers who would be cruelly separated by a selfish man with no great love for his sister.

The new Lady Mormont finds much to delight in her new home and her new husband. She takes as easily to managing the running of Mormont Keep and its estate as she does to riding in the glen. She is disposed to let her opinions known, and Sir Jorah, in turn, is disposed to demur to them; discerning, quite correctly, that he chose a wife who is strong of mind and character, and would do well to listen to her.

Now understanding for the first time that he is a man desirous of nothing more than to love and serve one who returns his tenderness, Sir Jorah is a devoted husband. A less clever or adoring wife might see his attentions as folly or weakness, but Daenerys recognises them as the actions of a man with a good heart and does not allow him to indulge her too fully. He rejoices in her happiness, and if he has sometimes to be reassured of it, she is shrewd enough to know it. It is perhaps why she asks him to recite _A Red, Red Rose_ so oft.

The arrival of a son and heir not two years into their union is a little sooner than perhaps Lady Mormont might have liked, but no sooner than could be expected for a couple so in love. When Sir Jorah first holds his squalling babe, he cries enough for them both. Three times a husband, and now, for the first time, a father.

“I never thought I should have this,” he tells Daenerys, who is tired and content and lovely.

She strokes their babe’s downy head.

“They say good things come to those who wait.”


End file.
